


Untouchable

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Thinker, The Feeler [2]
Category: Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Best Friends, Chase being a boss behind the scenes, Gen, Hate mail, Introspection, Partnership, Pre-Earth Transformers, Protectiveness, Self-Esteem Issues, anonymous hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It wasn’t as though mean notes were a new concept; Heatwave was just surprised that he was the recipient of one. As far as he knew, he was considered an average mech around the Academy.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Heatwave starts receiving anonymous hate mail and decides he should handle it on his own. Chase, however, is quite the investigator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Enclosed in the story is a headcanon credited to delkios on tumblr. I suggest you read that story first but it's not severely mandatory. If you want to read the headcanon, go [here](http://delkios.tumblr.com/tagged/rescue-bots) and look for "Everything's Alright".
> 
> If you want the short version, it's that some Bots have been part of scientific experiments which dampen their emotions to make them "more objective", but it just makes it hard for them to understand abstract ideas like "fun" or "joy" or "hate". Some of these Bots develop anxiety problems, obsessiveness, perfectionism, etc. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for anonymous hate mail.

Heatwave vented slowly, trying to keep his spark pulse at a steady rate and failing; it was steadily _climbing_. He was distracted, maintaining a good distance away from his fellow students. Which one of them was responsible for what had been happening to him? Did they regret it at all? Was it a joke gone too far?

Over the past several quintuns, he hadn’t found a single answer.

The firemech-in-training approached his Academy storage unit and pressed a hand against it, more questions rising. How had it been breached so many times? It wasn’t supposed to be possible. When a mech’s unit was closed, it was supposed to be _closed_.

Glancing nervously around, he unlocked it and his vents kicked to a higher gear when he found three data pads. _Get ahold of yourself_ , he chided silently. _It could be nothing_. By now this idea was just a way of delaying the inevitable. At least he could delay it a little bit longer. Thus decided, he slammed the unit shut and rushed away, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw components ached.

—

Everything started innocently, as most problems did. Heatwave had found a single data pad in his storage unit and had stuffed it into his subspace; it had been a busy orn and he hadn’t had time to read the note until he got home. When he did, a sharp lance of astonishment and anger struck his spark.

**_You’re glitched. The Academy would be better off without you._ **

“Whose bright idea was it to write that?” he grumbled darkly. It was unsigned and when Heatwave tried to isolate the sender’s code, he found it blacked out. How that was done, he didn’t know. If he asked, he was sure his mentor, Inferno, could get Red Alert to find out, but Heatwave let his indignation bolster his resolve. Some half-clock had targeted him and they definitely weren’t worth his time, much less Inferno’s or Red’s.

Rising from his chair, he tossed the data pad into a cabinet and did his best to forget about it as he got ready for recharge. It wasn’t as though mean notes were a new concept; Heatwave was just surprised that _he_ was the recipient of one. As far as he knew, he was considered an average mech around the Academy.

“He can’t crack a smile unless it’s at one of his own jokes,” another mech had remarked within Heatwave’s audial range. “But he’s good at what he does and he’s cooler than _some_ bots I could name.”

Of course, Heatwave had expected some backlash when he befriended Chase, who struggled with the lack of logic in life. No one ever suspected Chase wasn’t so ramrodded by choice, but Heatwave didn’t care. It just made him feel a stronger sense of loyalty toward the police Bot.

Come to think of it, Heatwave realized as he pulled out a warmer thermal tarp, he had only started taking their friendship seriously when Chase had received a slandering data pad in his storage unit. That was ironic, but this note and that didn’t seem to be connected. Heatwave had made it clear to the mechs responsible where he stood on the matter and the issue hadn’t come up again. At least it was two enemies Chase didn’t have to worry about; since he’d gotten better about defending himself, he could focus on eliminating the others.

Hopefully this scrap would be a one-time incident too.

Once he got to the Academy the next morning, Heatwave scanned the crowd of classmates around him. None of them seemed like a culprit, too guilty or too flippant. Before he could think much longer about it, he caught Chase’s optics and slipped into a smile.

Chase blinked, tilted his helm and returned the smile, much to Heatwave’s delight. It had taken almost a vorn to build enough of a rapport between them for something like that. That progress helped him remember that Chase was one mech who would _not_ be better off without him. The note was wrong.

Better still, when he checked his storage unit before he went home, he found it empty. As much as he wished he could forget it, though, the note was still in his drawer when he got home. He wanted to know who had sent it, he decided as he pulled it out, pointedly keeping his optics away from the words themselves as he tried to isolate the sender’s code again, with little success.

“If you believe this is a one-time incident, Heatwave, you probably shouldn’t continue to pursue it,” Chase would advise if he knew. “You’re likely to aggravate the sender into continuing as retaliation.”

“Are you saying you would just give up?” Heatwave would counter. “If I know you, the only thing your logic can’t defy is your curiosity.”

“Incorrect. Curiosity and logic are tools of investigative reasoning,” Chase would point out. Then Heatwave would settle back in his chair and smirk.

“Exactly my point.”

Heatwave huffed in amusement at the scenario he had just come up with. He wouldn’t mind telling Chase about this note; he was sure his friend would be eager to help with the investigation, but another thought occurred to him that Chase might be sensitive in this area because he had gone through the same. It was better not to risk reminding him; Heatwave could solve it on his own.

 _Or…maybe not_ , he realized as he opened his unit the next morning and found another data pad, sitting in the same spot as the first one. Tentatively he pulled it out and glanced around the hallway, wondering if anyone was watching, waiting for him to read it so they could laugh at his reaction.

He wouldn’t give them a reaction. Schooling his features, he quickly scanned the words. There were only three, but they made him realize his inner-Chase had to be right. They were retaliating with a short but sure punch to his internals.

**_You’re a failure._ **

It wasn’t true. Of course he knew it wasn’t true; he had been near the top of his class for a while now, but the open statement was…surprisingly hurtful. Heatwave wished he could be proud of himself when he simply put the data pad back in the unit and strode away. He couldn’t let them distract him, he vowed as he leapt into training with the others. If he made too many mistakes because of a slaggin’ note, the words would ring true.

He didn’t visit his unit again until the next quintun, growling low in his throat upon finding _two_ data pads waiting for him, stacked on top of the one he had left behind. Clenching his teeth, he subspaced them and did his best to resist the compulsion to read them, but when he and the other firemechs-in-training were given a washroom break, he locked himself in a stall and pulled them out.

**_You’re useless. You’re just another shock jock with a bigger mouth than processor, so you shouldn’t even fraggin’ be here. Get lost!_ **

**_Anyone who says they like you are lying and you know it. No one would care if you left._ **

Both were anonymous, just like the first ones; everyone knew about Heatwave’s temper and knack for retaliation if he knew who was behind the injustice. He stared at them for several minutes until a knock on the stall startled him.

“Hey!” one of his classmates called. “You’re gonna be late, Heatwave!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rush me!” Heatwave shot back, earning a scoff and retreating footsteps.

Ex-venting harshly, Heatwave stormed out of the stall after them and shoved the pads into the nearest disposal chute. This was probably just some attention seeker; they didn’t know what they were talking about.

_Anyone who says they like you is lying…No one would care…_

Heatwave shook his helm violently as he reached his next class, suppressing the words. Whoever or whatever this was supposed to be, Heatwave didn’t see a reason for his one friend to find out about it. Chase had enough of his own slag to deal with, not just in his surroundings but in his own processor, and Heatwave was supposed to be his partner _and_ his protector, untouchable. These notes could be ignored—at least until he went to his unit again and found a rising stack.

That stack became two stacks. Even if he was disgusted by them, Heatwave felt compelled to read them on the chance that one of them was something different, something important. If he missed a teacher’s notes or his mentor scheduling their next meeting…

All of the letters said the same, doing their best to impress the message on his processor, with varying degrees of severity.

**_You could never live up to the potential of everyone else._ **

**_Stop trying to help anyone; you make everything worse._ **

**_You’re too half-clocked to graduate and I hope you get booted!_ **

**_Slag off, stupid. You know you can’t cut it._ **

—

He had backed into a corner, Heatwave realized numbly, not for the first or last time as he stared at the two stacks which had _extraordinarily_ become three. All of the letters were anonymous, so even if he told a teacher, they wouldn’t be able to track down the culprit. Inferno and Firestar were currently out of town together, which made it impossible for Heatwave to track down Red Alert. He had given up on tracking the return address, in an attempt to make the tormentor stop, and it had failed. If anything, they had gotten worse.

Worst of all, Heatwave had a feeling Chase suspected something. Heatwave had maintained as much contact as he dared, trying to seem like everything was normal while also tamping down the fear that Chase might end up doing one of two things. His first fear was that somehow Chase would become just as much a target as he was; there was quite a bit of ammunition they could use on his partner. His second fear, irrational as it was, was that his newly planted doubts would prove true.

 _Does he really need my help? Is it enough? If I can’t get myself out of this corner, how am I supposed to help him?_ Heatwave wondered anxiously, finding it hard to focus as Chase read a passage from their joint studies.

_He has so much potential. Am I weighing him down? Why did I even call him my partner? I didn’t even ask him if he wanted to be! Am I taking advantage of him?_

“Heatwave?”

The firemech jumped and found Chase studying him intently.

“What?” he snapped back, self-conscious. Saying nothing, Chase leaned forward and held the data pad out to him. Against his will, Heatwave recoiled ever so slightly. “What’s that?”

Chase’s laugh was naturally stilted, rarely ever used except to relieve tension, but this time it also held some incredulity. “The text I’ve been reading to you. It’s your turn, from Paragraph 130A.”

“Oh.” Guiltily Heatwave snatched the pad from him, readjusted when he nearly dropped it, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure.” He read the words without hearing them, wondering what else he would be forced to read before the orn’s end.

—

After that “beneficial” study time, Heatwave failed two tests and passed by the lowest mark on the third. He was sure Chase had passed all of them easily, as usual, but he wanted to inquire and make sure. Happiness for others was what kept him going. Honestly, it was the only happiness he could remember feeling for a while now.

Upon rounding the corner, Heatwave found nothing but the usual hallway scenes, aside from one critical detail: his storage unit was open. Spark lunging into his throat, Heatwave sped toward it, opening the door further to find the stacks had vanished. Only one data pad remained. Trying to steel himself, Heatwave picked it up, swallowing traitorous rises of emotion as he read.

**_Heatwave,_ **

**_I remembered some notes I took on our text and wanted to put them in your unit. I hoped it would help you through your retake of your tests. You know what I found. I don’t judge or blame you but I wish you had trusted me enough to tell me._ **

**_To earn back your trust, I’ve taken the situation into my own hands. Think better of me for it. Think of me as I think of you: as an honorable mech whose friendship I’m honored to have._ **

****

**_– Chase_ **

 

_After five orns of absence, Chase reappeared in the Academy, limping, with one arm in a brace, but stoic and satisfied. The letters slipped quietly into the past—unforgotten, but Heatwave didn’t want to forget. He kept Chase’s letter in his storage unit, just in case he needed a reminder of the truth._

_He and his partner were again untouchable._


End file.
